


The finest of the meadow

by allforyoumylove



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Kissing in the Rain, Lots of kissing, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Morning Sex, Robbe's birthday, Sander is so sweet, Stargazing, Strangers to Lovers, They're being vulnerable with each other, They're cute, and extra but what's new, flower picking, like so much fluff, they fall for each other very fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allforyoumylove/pseuds/allforyoumylove
Summary: The universe brings two lonely boys together in a flowering meadow. They fall for each other fast and hard among delicate daisies, warm summer breezes, and shooting stars.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 49
Kudos: 173





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hii! I’m back with a new little summer fic. It’s basically just Robbe and Sander picking flowers, getting to know each other, kissing, and being cute and vulnerable. All five chapters are written and one will be posted every Sunday. The first will be up in two days. And Sander is a brunette in this cause I'm trying to prepare myself for brown-haired Sander in s4 and I'm not ready.  
> And omg those photos he posted for Robbe's birthday??? They're literally the dreamiest couple and I'll never ever ever be over it <3<3<3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading!  
> Comments give me life so feel free to leave one (or more) if you'd like <3

**October 2019**

Sander sensed it before he lifted his eyes, the feeling so deeply rooted in himself.

The loneliness.

Then, he heard the hitching breaths, the mournful snivels.

When his eyes landed on him, his pencil stopped its relentless dance across the ivory white page.

A boy, with curls complementary to the colours of the autumn leaves, and slumped shoulders like he was carrying the world on his back, slowly made his way through the tall grass. From afar, Sander could tell he was skinny, but it was evident that muscles sculpted his body underneath his loose-fitting clothing.

Perched against a tree, camouflaged by the golden reeds but nearly given away by his captivation, Sander watched as the boy ran his hands through the weeds and withered wildflowers, before those same fingers raised to his cheeks, wiping away tears shining like crystals in the October light as they cascaded over the brim of his honey eyes.

Quietly, the pencil between Sander’s fingers found its way to the paper. His hand took on a life of its own, it sketched and sketched and sketched the boy in despair, giving him a home among graphite flowers, entwined hands, still lifes. He didn’t dare blink, afraid that he would miss any little movement of his.

As Sander watched him in awe, he felt something tug in his chest. When the boy turned his head in his direction, something tore itself loose and flew with the breeze towards him before he could stop it. It was as if the boy knew something was trying to reach him. Even from a distance, Sander saw the defeat in his gaze which never made it further than the cluster of Common Bent and Smooth Meadow-grass hiding his secret admirer.

Never had Sander seen another person in this place where he would go and sketch until the light around him was exhausted, but there was something so familiar about the view before him, something so well-known about the sight of a boy crying in a meadow in the time between harvest and winter, when everything is red and yellow and gold. Sander felt a pull towards him that almost knocked the air out of his lungs.

Because he had done the same. It could have been him.

In the boy Sander saw a gentle nature and recognised a kindred soul who, like himself, let his sorrows drown him, who suffered in silence to spare people his pain, who went to exquisite places when his heart was being torn down to hopefully let some of its beauty seep in through the cracks, who realised it was futile but kept doing it anyway. He exuded a calm and quiet beauty, one that would illuminate you as he slowly let you into every chamber of his being.

Sander found himself wanting to know what the boy lost sleep over, or whose eyes he sought for in a room full of people when in need of reassurance. And then, he found himself wanting to be the person the boy would reach for and confide in, the person in whom he could find solace and comfort. He wanted him to throw an arm around his neck and giggle into his shoulder. From only having lain his eyes on the boy for mere seconds, it was obvious that he could mend or break your heart in a bat of an eyelash without even realising it, and that his fingertips could write and compose hymns across you skin.

And Sander wanted all of it.

He watched how the boy slowly made his way back to where he came from, gradually being more and more obscured by bushes and trees, before he disappeared out of sight altogether, taking a piece of his admirer with him.

Sander picked one of the white daisies growing in abundance around him with the tips of his fingers and held it up before him, observing the thin petals against the unusually clear blue of the October sky. Then, he placed it in between the pages of his sketchbook. He wasn’t sad that the honey-eyed boy had gone. Instead, a tranquil feeling overcame him, because the boy had taken a piece of him with him, and everything in him was assured that he would come back with it, whether it be in a day or a year. He would come back.

‘To new beginnings’, he scribbled beneath the strokes of soft graphite, before gently closing the book.

_To new beginnings._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbe and Sander meet for the first time. There's some flirting going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter! <3  
> The chapters will progressively get longer.

**Where does it all lead? What will become of us? These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed.**

**It leads to each other. We become ourselves.**

**\- Patti Smith**

**July 12 th 2020**

Robbe hadn’t been there in nine months, to the place that meant so much to him. The place that reminded him of his mother’s laugh.

The last time he ran his hands through the rustling grasses, his heart was broken, leaving shards everywhere he went. Since then, he had collected most of them and pieced them back together to the best of his abilities, but some had inevitably gotten lost, leaving his heart with little cracks and chinks, never fully whole.

Now, as he stood gazing out across the blooming meadow full of common poppies nodding in the breeze in their red skirts, and the purple flowers of the centaurea scabiosas generously feeding the humming bees flying around them, he was beginning to accept that this was the condition his heart would be in always.

The cheery sound of birdsong caressed his ears. He let the warm air fill his lungs as his eyes travelled along the trees of the windbreak basking in the sunlight, so green your eyes almost couldn’t take all of it in, and the golden fields beyond, the most glorious the summer could be. This place looked like a little piece of heaven on earth, and it always made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

Until his eyes stopped their wandering. And he realised that he wasn’t.

In the grass in the sun-flecked shade of the hedgerow someone was sitting against the trunk of a tree. A boy. Out of all the times Robbe had been to this place, this was the first time he had seen another person there. He had kept this spot a secret, never told anyone about it. But now, it seemed that it had become a haven for someone else too.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew he should just let the person be, that it was the worst idea to approach a fucking stranger in a meadow, but something inexplicable was drawing him to him, making his legs move on their own accord.

The boy’s eyes were closed, his face turned and tilted towards the sun like a sunflower soaking up its rays, the light playing in his dark brown hair. His fingers were loosely wrapped around a pencil, an open sketchpad on his lap. An off-white t-shirt graced his upper body, going nicely with the dark jeans on his legs and black boots on his feet. An empty thermo cup stood beside him, its lid lying in the grass. There was a glowing tint to his skin as if liquid gold flowed in his veins.

As Robbe neared, making the grass crackle under his feet, the boy opened his eyes slowly as if awoken from a slumber. They were green and beautiful, full of stories and heartbreak. He had a face that would stand out in a sea full of people, one that could make you stop in your tracks and cause you to miss your train in the morning. His gaze travelled up Robbe’s body, before it landed on his face. When he looked into Robbe’s eyes, his expression softened as if he had recognized an old friend.

Now that Robbe’s brain had taken him there, it suddenly forgot to give him further instructions on what to do next. As he stood there, awkward and dumbfounded, the boy just smiled up at him. It caught something in Robbe’s heart.

“Hi,” he said, his tone deep and welcoming.

“Uhm, hello,” Robbe managed to say. He felt that there was something oddly well-known about him. “Sorry, have we– Have we met before?” he then stammered.

“Uh,” the boy said, looking at him with an expression Robbe couldn’t quite decipher. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” Robbe shook his head. “Sorry. I just thought there was something familiar about you.”

“That’s okay.” The boy smiled again. “You’re welcome to sit down,” he added. “If you want.”

Some of the boy’s calmness rubbed off on Robbe, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. He sat down in the grass beside him, crossing his legs. Picking at the green straws, he looked up at him. “So, uhm, do you come here a lot?”

A small smirk spread on the boy’s face. “Are you trying to chat me up?”

“Uh, n– no,” Robbe said with a small laugh. “It’s just– I used to come here when I was younger, and this is the first time I’ve met anybody else here.”

The boy mindlessly tapped the end of his pencil on the page. Robbe couldn’t see what was on it. He glanced away, not wanting to seem too nosy.

“I’m here a lot, yeah. Mostly when I need space from people,” the boy said, before adding, “Or when they need space from me.”

Robbe looked at him. He had met him not even ten minutes ago, and he had already taken an instant liking to him, unable to comprehend how people wanted space from him.

“What about you?” the boy asked. “Why are you here?”

Robbe found himself reaching for his necklace. “It reminds me of my mama.”

The boy hummed softly, scanning his face.

“She’s fine, don’t worry,” Robbe added quickly. “She took me here when I was younger. Sometimes my dad would come along, too, but it was mostly just me and her.”

“Do you two not come here anymore?”

Robbe shook his head lightly. “It’s a long story.”

The boy nodded understandingly.

Realising that he hadn’t even introduced himself yet, Robbe held out his hand for the boy to shake, “I’m Robbe, by the way.”

The boy smiled. “Sander.” His palm felt smooth against his, his fingers strong. Robbe tried to ignore the gentle flutter in his chest.

 _Sander_. It suited him.

Sander reached into the front pocket of his jeans, leaning over towards Robbe in the process to be able to get the things he was reaching for out. “Do you smoke?” he asked as he pulled out a small joint and a lighter.

Robbe eyed it between his fingers. “Uhm, yeah. Sometimes.”

Sander put the joint between his lips and cupped the lighter as he flicked it. Prominent veins ran elegantly down the back of his hand, and Robbe nearly had to look away. Sander inhaled, and a few moments later he blew out the light grey smoke. It formed into live swirls and twirls as it disappeared into the air. The sweet smell reached Robbe’s nose. Sander looked at him and offered him the joint. Their fingers brushed as Robbe took it. He imagined those fingers dancing across the keys of a shiny black piano, or over sensitive skin, making goosebumps rise in their wake.

Sander didn’t take his eyes off of him as he took a drag, and Robbe felt his cheeks heating. He passed back the joint and fiddled with a bit of loose skin around his thumbnail. Then, he glanced at the now closed sketchbook lying between them on the ground. The black cover had paint splatters on it; the spine was cracked from all the times it had been opened. Sander noticed and seemed to read his mind. “I study visual arts at the Academy. I just finished my first year. I bring that with me everywhere.”

Robbe nodded, impressed. _An art student at the Academy_. He imagined Sander by a big easel in class, his eyes darting back and forth between the paper and his subject as his artist hand moved in swift motions, swiping charcoal on the smooth surface. “So, you’re eighteen? Nineteen?” he asked.

“Nineteen.”

Robbe felt his cheeks warm once again, and he looked down at his hands. “I’m sixteen. I’m starting my final year of high school after the summer break.”

“Ah,” Sander said. “It’s stressful isn’t it?”

Robbe nodded with a small laugh. “Fucking stressful.”

Sander gazed out across the meadow, following the scattered white clouds ambling in the blue sky, and then the flowers swaying in the breeze. Robbe saw the corners of his mouth tug upwards in a smile. Putting the joint out in the empty cup beside him, Sander stood up suddenly. “Come.”

“Uh, where?” Robbe asked, a bit confused.

Sander breathed out a laugh through his nose and reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. Robbe suppressed a surprised gasp. They were very close. “Just walk with me,” the older boy said.

The grass crunched beneath his black boots, a stark contrast to the splashes of colours around him. Robbe walked behind him for a bit, watching how Sander ran his fingertips over the soft and fine petals. He saw how his shoulder blades moved under the fabric of his shirt as he effortlessly picked some of the flowers, until he at last had a bouquet of daisies, bellflowers, carnations, buttercups.

“So, what’s your last name?” Sander asked, turning around as if sensing Robbe’s eyes on him, flowers in his sun-kissed hand. There was such an obvious beauty to him.

Robbe’s lips spread in a smirk. “Why? Are you gonna go home and stalk me?”

Sander mirrored his expression. “No, I’m just trying to figure out what to save you as in my phone when you give me your number.”

Robbe eyed him in amazement, and then he couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from his throat. “Smooth.”

The older boy’s eyes crinkled around the corners.

“It’s Ijzermans,” Robbe said.

“Robbe Ijzermans.” It rolled off Sander’s tongue so smoothly, as if he had said it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there. Robbe liked it a lot. The older boy reached out and quickly fished Robbe’s phone out of his front pocket.

 _Some nerve that boy had_.

He laughed as Sander’s shoulders slumped comically at the realisation that he needed a password to enter. Smirking, Robbe took his phone back and unlocked it. “What’s your number, then?” he asked, looking up at Sander with a raised eyebrow, not knowing where his courage came from.

A lopsided grin grew on Sander’s face, and the tip of his tongue glided across his lips, making them shimmer in the sun, before he told him.

As Robbe was about to pocket his phone again, his eyes widened as he saw the time, not understanding how it had gotten so late all of a sudden. “Uhm, Sander, I think I need to head home.”

He heard Sander hum, unable to decipher his tone. The older boy added a last flower to the small bundle in his hand. Then, he held them up to Robbe’s nose for him to smell them. The rush of boldness Robbe had felt just a few moments ago subsided as fast as it had arrived, and his cheeks grew warm as he inhaled the fresh, sweet scent of the colourful bouquet. He didn’t miss how Sander’s eyes visibly softened.

“They’re lovely,” he said quietly.

“Here.” Sander prompted him to take them. “For you.”

Hesitantly, Robbe wrapped his fingers around the stems, brushing Sander’s hand in the process. “No one’s ever given me flowers before,” he admitted, breathing out a small chuckle. “Thank you.”

Sander’s warm eyes roamed his face. “When they wilt, we’ll meet here, and I’ll pick some new ones for you.”

Robbe felt his heart jump in his chest. “Then I’ll, uh– I’ll text you,” he waved with the flowers a bit, letting out a nervous chuckle, “when these die.”

Sander smiled at him. “No, call me.”

A warmth welled in Robbe’s chest, and he couldn’t help but move his eyes down to Sander’s lips for a split-second. If he ever got the chance to feel them against his own, he didn’t think he would hesitate. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll call you.”

“And I’ll answer.”

Sander did a little farewell salute as they parted ways.

It shouldn’t be possible in such a short amount of time, but Robbe felt a kinship with Sander, one beyond comprehension; it was in the way the older boy’s sparkling eyes were surrounded by dark shadows that could only be a result of nights with little to no sleep; it was in the way he slightly dragged his boot clad feet, only visible to those who did the same.

Robbe turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. The smooth, black sketchbook was in Sander’s hands once more, his fingers back around his pencil, his gaze still on him. Robbe wondered what the boy he now had saved as Sander Driesen in his phone found worthy of dedicating his time to reproducing and giving new life in graphite and charcoal.

Maybe someday he would find out.

-

It only took a day and a half and an embarrassing amount of time searching up ‘Sander Driesen’ on social media for Robbe to contact the boy. He sat in his bed, his gaze on the flowers he had put in a vase and placed on his windowsill, his phone pressed to his ear. Sander picked up on the second ring.

“Can’t get enough of me?”

Robbe felt his cheeks pinken, because _oh god_ his voice was so deep. “How did you even know it was me?” he asked.

“I have an inner alarm that goes off every time cute boys call me.” The smirk was evident in Sander’s tone.

“Shut up,” Robbe laughed quietly, already feeling too flustered to come up with any good comebacks. “Are you on Instagram?” he asked instead, straight on.

There was a beat. Then, “Maybe.”

“What’s your name on there, then?” Robbe asked, toying with his necklace.

He could hear the smile in Sander’s voice. “Do you think you’ve already earned the right to look through the polished and aesthetically pleasing photo album of my life?”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”

Sander’s breathing sounded softly through the phone. “I’ll think about it.”

Robbe laughed.

“See you, Robin.” The older boy’s voice was gentle now, the teasing tone dwindling.

A warmth welled in Robbe’s chest. He had never really liked people calling him nicknames, no matter how well-meaning it was. But he wanted Sander to call him that again. And again and again.

“See you,” he breathed out, his voice betraying him.

A minute later, the screen on his phone lit up. Robbe bit down on his lip, unable to supress a smile as he read the single word that Sander had sent him.

 _‘earthlingoddity_ ’

And then,

_‘Meet me again on Sunday.’_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbe tells Sander about his mama. Sander draws him. They're falling for each other. Hard.

**July 19 th 2020**

Sander’s gaze was already on him as Robbe made his way through the flowers. He was in the same spot as the first time, making it easier for the younger boy to find him. Sander squinted a bit in the bright sunlight, and with his light grey t-shirt and messy hair he looked like a child of summer. Robbe’s heart fluttered against his ribcage.

He lifted his hand in a little wave, a small smile on his lips. “Hey, Jack Frost.”

Robbe had almost audibly gasped and had definitely felt his heart skip a beat in his chest when he saw the photos of Sander with bleached blond hair scattered among black-and-white shots of buildings and staircases. And if he had zoomed in and looked a little too long at a picture of him in a green camouflage suit, an unclasped helmet resting on the top of his head, blond hair peeking out, a paintball gun in his golden hands, then nobody needed to know. It looked like Sander had pulled off the white almost unfairly well, but Robbe was going to tease him with it anyway.

Sander didn’t even bat an eyelid. He just smirked and said, “Hi, surfer boy. Or maybe I should say rapper boy?”

A heat spread in Robbe’s cheeks as he sat down beside Sander, and he mentally facepalmed himself, having forgotten all about those stupid vlogs. “So, you did actually stalk me.”

“Of course I did,” Sander admitted shamelessly. “I wanted to know more about the cutie trying to chat me up.”

Robbe sputtered. “I’m telling you, I really didn’t.”

Sander let out a laugh, and Robbe felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards at the sound. He shook his head in feigned annoyance. Moving his gaze to Sander’s brown hair, he asked, “Why did you get rid of the white?”

The older boy shrugged. “I was just done with it, I guess. It was so damaged from all the bleach anyway, so it needed to go.”

Robbe nodded and bit down on his lip. He then couldn’t help but say, “You looked good with it.”

A smirk crept onto Sander’s face again. “Are you saying I don’t look good with my natural hair colour?”

Robbe couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Jesus, can’t a boy just give you a compliment?”

“Oh, he can,” Sander smirked. “Especially if he's you.” Then he added, “You look really good in a wetsuit, by the way.”

Not finding the right words to respond to his blatant flirtatious tone, Robbe puffed out a shy laugh, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, and then he opted to ask another question. “What’s with all the Bowie stuff?”

Sander chuckled softly. “My dad listens to him a lot, so he introduced me to him when I was younger. He took me with him to look for his records in thrift shops and stuff, and every time it kinda turned into a contest of who could find one first. For as long as I remember it’s been a tradition for him to put his music on every Sunday morning while my mama made us all croques.”

Robbe smiled, but he felt a faint ache in his chest as he did whenever people talked about family traditions. “That sounds nice.”

Sander smiled. “Now his music has become sort of an escape for me, I guess. Just like drawing and coming out here is. It’s like this place is outside time and space.”

Robbe hummed, picking at a few strands of grass in front of him, knowing what he meant. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sander looking at him. He met his gaze.

“Can I uh..." the older boy began softly. "Can I draw you?”

Robbe felt his eyes widen just the tiniest bit, his heart picking up speed in his chest. “You wanna draw me?”

Sander nodded. “Come on. I promise it won’t hurt,” he said teasingly.

“Uh… Yeah, sure. Okay,” Robbe said, feeling a nervousness bubble up inside him. But as Sander made himself comfortable against a tree opposite of Robbe, the sketchbook and pencil in place, he just continued their conversation as if this was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was, because Robbe felt his heartbeat calm down, his shoulders relaxing.

“Do you have any family traditions?” Sander asked.

“Not really, no. Not anymore at least.” Robbe said, before glancing out across the meadow. “My mama actually used to take me here for my birthday when I was little, no matter the weather. When she was a child, her parents always took her here for hers along with her siblings, and she wanted to pass that tradition on.” Smiling sheepishly, he added, “She, uh, she would bring strawberries and homemade chocolate cake, and we’d find a nice spot in the sun or beneath a tree if it was raining, just the two of us. It was my favourite day of the year.”

He almost saw himself as a little boy prancing around in the grass, so green and tall he could almost get lost in it back then, laughing with his mama, chocolate smeared around his mouth. Sander was smiling as his eyes shifted back and forth between him and the sketchbook. “When is your birthday?” he asked.

“August 20th.”

Robbe didn’t miss how Sander’s eyes seemed to light up at that. “Oh, that’s soon, then.”

Robbe breathed out a chuckle. “Now we don’t really have any traditions.” He glanced down at his hands, fiddling with a fingernail as he quietly added, “My mama hasn’t had the easiest past few years.”

Sander looked up at him, eyes darting back and forth between his. “Do you want to tell me about her?” he asked softly.

And Robbe really did. He had only told fragments to his friends, feeling like they never really got it, but now, he wanted to tell everything. He didn’t know if it was because the place, so secluded in a bustling world, calmed him, or because Sander’s kind smile made him feel safe and secure. He could let the facade that he usually wore melt away here, and he became aware of how much he needed that. And there was something in Sander’s eyes that told Robbe that he wasn’t asking out of politeness, but because he actually wanted to hear Robbe talk.

So, Robbe told him everything that came to mind, the big and the small. He recounted how his mama would snuggle up to him in his small bed whenever he had nightmares, combing a hand through his hair while whispering reassuring words until he felt okay again. He would bury his face in her soft neck, breathing in her familiar scent, and listen to her steady heartbeat. He told Sander that he had gotten her brown eyes and curly hair. People would tell him that he also had the same big heart as her, but Robbe didn’t believe that, because he’d never known anyone as kind-hearted as her. At that, Sander’s eyes softened, and he looked down with a small smile on his face.

Sander kept the smile on as Robbe told him about the time he came out to her as gay, how scared he had been of her reaction, but realised in the end that he had worried without reason as she had looked at him with sparkling, teary eyes and a wide, motherly smile, taking him in her arms and telling him how much she loved him, her beautiful son; that she would love whoever he loved.

He didn’t notice that his fingers were mindlessly running the golden angel pendant back and forth on its chain, until Sander nodded his head towards it and asked, “Did she give that to you.”

Robbe nodded as he looked down at the little cherub with its chin resting in its hand. “Yeah, when I was little. I didn’t really wear it back then, and the chain was also too long on me anyway, but now I never take it off.”

He then told Sander how he gradually saw the light go out of her otherwise vibrant brown eyes, how she sometimes went to sleep the minute she got home from work, not waking up until the next morning. He noticed how her thought process was slowing down, and he had watched her with a growing gash in his heart as she walked around the house like a ghost of herself. His dad had scoffed the day she couldn’t get out of bed, having no understanding of what was happening. Robbe felt horrible going to school, knowing how much she struggled at home, and sometimes he would pretend to be sick just to stay home with her.

“At one point, it became so bad that she couldn’t eat, she could barely stand on her feet.”

There was an expression of recognition in Sander’s eyes and in the way he nodded as he listened.

“She was diagnosed with severe depression. You should have seen the look on my dad’s face. It was like he couldn’t believe that it was happening to _him_.”

Sander’s sketchbook now lay abandoned in his lap as he had turned his full attention on Robbe, listening attentively.

Robbe had never really articulated any of his feelings of powerlessness or his interior loathing of his dad before, not even to his friends. As the words now finally streamed out of him, the heavy weight he had carried in his chest transformed into something more bearable. This felt like the next best thing after the therapy sessions he had never had, but so clearly needed.

“My dad couldn’t take it. When everything got really tough, and we needed him the most, he just left us. And then, like the fucking double standard idiot that he is, he got mad at mama for not being able to take care of me, as if he wasn’t her husband and _my_ _fucking dad._ He just completely failed us. I was never mad at mama, I was mad at him.”

Robbe felt the anger begin to rise in him again but decided to let it pass as it just wasn’t worth it.

“Then when mama was admitted to an institution, he suddenly felt like being a parent again and wanted me to live with him, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to see him. I was so fucking mad, and I just knew it would be a living hell if I stayed with him. We wouldn’t do anything but scream at each other. So, I ended up in a flat-share instead.”

Sander raised his eyebrows slightly. “What was that like?”

All the laughter and bickering and late-night conversations that happened in that apartment ran through Robbe’s mind. “It was great. Chaotic, but great,” Robbe smiled. “I kinda miss it sometimes.”

He went on. “I felt that my dad was ashamed of my mama. I could tell it in his voice the few times we spoke on the phone. It felt like he didn’t want to talk about her, and I just– I never understood that. Her having depression didn’t make her any less of a person, it’s just a part of her, just as her being caring, and funny, and loving is part of her.”

As Robbe met Sander’s gaze again, he didn’t miss the flicker of melancholy laced in it. “Not everyone thinks like that.” Sander said.

Robbe hummed. “I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he could leave her so easily when I would do anything for her. When you don’t relate to something the least you can do is try to understand. The one doesn’t rule out the other.”

He couldn’t quite read the expression on Sander’s face; he looked like he wanted to say something but in the last second decided against it.

“You sound like a great son, Robbe.”

He sounded so sincere that Robbe had to break his gaze to look down at his fingers in his lap, feeling warmth rise in his chest and cheeks.

“How is she doing now?” Sander asked.

Robbe smiled. “Much better. She moved back home just before Christmas, so I’ve lived with her since then. She’s had minor relapses but overall it’s good.”

Sander nodded. He kept looking at him, and, transfixed, Robbe watched as his Adam’s apple moved under his skin as he swallowed.

“I saw you,” Sander said gently, almost hesitant.

Robbe frowned slightly. “Hm?”

“I saw you back in October. When you were here.”

As Sander gauged his reaction, Robbe felt a warmth flow underneath his skin as that day came back to him, realising that the older boy had seen him cry. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” The look in Sander’s eyes was so genuine and if he was sitting within reach, Robbe would have squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” he settled on instead, shooting him a small but sincere smile. He let his gaze drift past Sander and out across the meadow. “That was the day she was admitted to the institution. I thought coming here would calm me down. But it just made me even sadder instead.”

Sander hummed understandingly. “I don’t know why, but somehow I knew we’d meet. That us being here on the same day wasn’t just a coincidence,” he said.

Robbe shot him a small smile. Resting the back of his head against the tree, he watched Sander in a comfortable silence as the older boy resumed his doodling. Without ever having seen any of his sketches, he knew Sander was gifted. He could tell from the way his pencil moved fast but methodically, how he lifted his eyes in a steady rhythm from his sketchbook, to him, and back again, claiming his talent. Robbe couldn’t suppress a small smile at the way he slightly furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. Sander’s eyes moved over his features, gradually lingering longer and longer on his eyes, then his lips, feeling his focus slip away.

He then made his way over to Robbe, sitting down beside him to show him the drawing, their forearms touching. Robbe's eyes widened as he took the drawing in. Sander had caught a softness in his eyes that Robbe didn’t realise was there when he talked about his mother. In his hair he had added a chain of daisies.

“I felt like you needed one,” Sander said in response to Robbe’s questioning look.

Robbe smiled. “You can make me one for my birthday.”

Sander’s lips spread in a smirk. Carefully, he ripped the page out of the sketchbook. He folded it gently, and as he handed him the drawing, Robbe knew it was a token of complete trust.

“Are you sure?” he couldn’t help but ask.

The older boy nodded, a soft look on his face. “Absolutely.”

As Robbe slipped the paper into his front pocket, Sander stood up and reached out his hand for him to grab. “Come.”

Robbe took it and never wanted to let go. He felt Sander’s gaze on him as he helped pull him to his feet, and he could only reciprocate in wavering glances, his cheeks heating _because of course they were_.

Sander let his hand linger a moment before releasing it, leaving his sketchbook on the ground as he started walking, trusting that Robbe would follow. Robbe couldn’t help but watch him in awe, refusing to believe that Sander was a real person also existing among moving cars and schoolwork and stressful mornings, just like him.

As Sander’s golden fingertips caressed tall blades of green grass and delicate flower petals, their colours so saturated at the peak of summer, he exuded exquisite beauty, and for a fleeting moment Robbe wondered what he would look like wrapped in his bedsheets. Sander then gracefully bent down, picking a few bluets. As he stood back up and turned around towards the younger boy it was like time slowed. The warm breeze and bright light played with his deep brown hair. Two pale yellow butterflies chasing each other flitted past his ear, and his eyes, green and gold, travelled with them for a moment, and no speech was left in Robbe. The sun shone on Sander as if it wanted to swallow him whole, and Robbe couldn’t blame it. It brought your attention to his statue of David jaw and made the corners of his mouth appear deeper, accentuating the shape of his light pink lips that were spreading in a smile. He was all windswept and rosy-cheeked and beautiful, worthy of being caught on film or perpetuated in oils on canvas.

Sander’s eyelashes glistened in the sunlight as he came closer, making Robbe forget all about dainty flowers and absent fathers, replacing it with the sense that something was about to culminate. He didn’t want carnations. He wanted Sander’s arms around him. He didn’t want bluebells. He wanted Sander’s lips on his.

Sander came closer and closer still, until their faces were mere centimetres apart. His eyes flickered back and forth between Robbe’s as he reached for his hand and gently opened it, placing the stems of the flowers in his palm, before closing his fingers back around them. Robbe let it happen without thought, his eyes dancing across Sander's features. Sander raised a hand and slowly trailed his fingertips down his cheekbone, before he cupped his cheek. Robbe almost gasped as the silver ring around Sander’s forefinger came in contact with his skin, so cold against his sun-warmed cheek.

Without thinking, Robbe tilted his head and rested his nose against the older boy’s.

“Sander,” he sighed out ever so softly as their lips brushed. And that was all it took for Sander to slot their lips together. He kissed him like there was no other choice, like he would die if he stopped. All air was pulled from Robbe's lungs. He cradled Sander's face, the bluets still in his hand pressing into his skin. He felt how Sander's jaw and cheeks moved with the movements of his lips, and it sent shivers up and down his spine. When Sander licked into his mouth, Robbe’s knees almost gave out.

Sander tasted like freedom and fear. Like sweet melodies and mortal sin, ardour and woe, and something so heavenly it nearly made tears well in Robbe’s eyes.

Breathless, Robbe slowly pulled back, his hands gliding down to rest on Sander’s chest. Against his palm he could feel the pounding of his pulse. He took in Sander's face; his eyes were swimming with stars, and he was looking at him like he had placed them there one by one. His parted lips glistened, his chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” Robbe whispered.

Sander let out a small, breathy chuckle, his fingers caressing Robbe’s neck. “So is yours.”

The older boy leaned in once more, and just as Robbe tilted his head to meet his lips, a loud ping broke their little bubble. Robbe felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he reluctantly reached for it.

“It’s my mama,” he sighed as he read the message. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” Sander said quietly, and then, “Thank you for telling me about her before.” He nodded his head in the direction of the trees they had been sitting beneath. “I really like listening to you. You have a nice voice.”

Robbe couldn’t respond, his mind too hazy to function properly, so threw his arms around Sander’s neck and kissed him again, and then he kissed him some more, because now that he had gotten a taste of him, he didn’t think he would ever be satiated.

Their fingers tangled together, and Robbe held onto his fingertips for as long as possible as he started walking backwards, until only the breeze blew where Sander’s skin had touched his. Shy grins rested on their faces. Robbe couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder as he made his way through the grass to his bike. Sander had a fond smirk on his face. “See you, mama’s boy,” he said teasingly.

Robbe raised his hand and then his middle finger. He heard the sweet sound of Sander’s laugh, and he couldn’t help mirroring it himself.

Feeling lightheaded and tender-hearted, he cycled home, fingers clasped around the dainty flowers. Every now and then he palmed his front pocket just to make sure that the little folded-up piece of ivory white paper was still there.

-

Later that evening, Robbe’s phone lit up with a text from Sander.

_‘Thank you for flipping me off. That was very sweet of you.’_

A few seconds later, _‘And thank you for kissing me. That was also very sweet of you.’_

Robbe bit down on his lip as he typed his reply.

 _‘You’re welcome. For both.’_ And then, _‘ <3.’_

It took five seconds for another message to appear, and Robbe’s heart felt light as air.

_‘You’re cute, Robin.’_

The words were undemanding. They didn’t need a response. It was just a gentle statement, a reminder for Robbe to fall asleep to. He reached for the drawing he had placed on his bedside table, unfolded it, and ever so lightly his fingertips grazed the pencil strokes making up his cheekbones and nose before they moved along the ragged edge where the paper had been connected to Sander’s sketchbook.

And Robbe was falling. Far and hard.

As he closed his eyes, he wasn’t met with darkness. Instead, he saw golden fingers around stems of bluets, green eyes so bright, and a freckled cupid’s bow above pink lips belonging to a boy whose name began with the same letters as sanctuary and sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3  
> I can't believe season 4 has started. I'm actually not ready


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Robbe's birthday, and Sander is being cute and extra, but what's new <3

**August 20 th 2020**

Their meetings grew more and more frequent, their skin more golden, and the flowers in Robbe’s window grew into his own miniature meadow.

The two boys were getting to know each other on long, warm, and sunlit days through words that flowed easily, until gazes wandered downwards, and lips moved closer, and everything about childhoods and art classes was temporarily forgotten about.

Robbe would lie on his stomach, half on top of Sander’s chest, and run a hand through his hair or trace his eyebrows with a fingertip. Other times, one of them would put their head in the other’s lap and gaze up at them while they talked. As Robbe told little anecdotes from the few months he had lived in the flat-share, Sander looked at him adoringly, playing with his hair as Robbe squinted up at him when the sun hung high in the sky. With his eyes solely on him, Sander listened as Robbe recounted the awkward encounters in the mornings with Milan’s grindr dates, or how Zoë had nearly forced him to go see a doctor the time he felt at his lowest, how she would go into full on mama-mode when he didn’t eat properly. Sander smiled fondly as he heard about the times all three of them would sit in Zoë’s room and talk about boys when Robbe had finally come to terms with and accepted his sexuality. He told Sander about Senne who now felt like the protective older brother he never had.

Sander was a good listener. He asked questions at the right times and stayed silent when silence was needed. And when Sander talked, Robbe wanted to know everything about him at once, every little scrape and bruise from his childhood up until now. But at the same time, he wanted to prolong the experience of getting to know him for as long as possible and just linger in one story at a time, loving how Sander’s deep, pleasant voice curled around every word, so sensuous it sent thrills through his body. Robbe thought he could listen to him talk till the end of time.

Through these conversations he learned that Sander’s love of drawing and painting was sparked the first time he ever held a pencil, and that he basically hadn’t let go of one since. Robbe’s heart swelled at the image of little baby Sander, his small, chubby hand clasped around a pencil, energetically creating indecipherable squiggles on every surface, much to his parents’ frustration. “When I got a little older they made a part of my room into this, like, small art studio, telling me I could go crazy with paint and colours all I wanted there, but _only_ there.”

Robbe breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Did that help?”

Sander’s lips curled up in a smile. “Not really.”

“I knew it.” The younger boy threaded their fingers together and squeezed. “Little vandal.” He looked up at Sander from his place in his lap. “They sound great. Your parents.”

Sander hummed. “They are.”

When the topic landed on sexuality, he told Robbe how he had only ever dated girls in his earlier teenage years but started exploring and experimenting more when he found that his gaze seemed to linger on people regardless of their gender, going by what the great mister Harry Styles once said, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” Robbe chuckled at that, and then his stomach jerked at the realisation that Sander was _experienced_ , to say the least. But it was no surprise, really; you could tell in the way he carried himself, so at ease and effortlessly teasing and flirtatious but never crossing the line.

“You make it sound so easy,” he said.

Sander smiled. “It’s easy with you.”

Robbe rolled his eyes and pulled him down to kiss him.

He also found out the hard way that Sander was terrified of spiders when he one day leapt up from his lap so suddenly, mere millimetres from knocking the top of his head into Robbe’s chin. “Jesus, Sander, I gotta say, this is a great place for someone with a phobia of spiders.”

Sander looked at him with a raised eyebrow, unamused. “Just because I don’t like having gross spiders crawl on me, and I swear to God this one was fucking huge, Robbe, it doesn’t mean I have a phobia of them.”

Robbe indulged him, humming in feigned agreement. “Of course.”

Now, it was Sander’s turn to flip him off, and Robbe couldn’t help but throw his head back in joyful laughter. He wrapped his fingers around Sander’s wrist and pulled him back down, making the older boy straddle his hips and tickle his waist, dragging shrieks and giggles out of a squirming Robbe.

And Sander would smile at him softly and tell him things like, “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” or cheesy lines like, “A Ragged-Robin for a beautiful Robin,” as he handed him a pink, frayed flower, and Robbe would roll his eyes and damn himself for blushing anyway.

Other times, they would lie hidden by the tall flowers and grass, their lips slotted together in an endless kiss, never leaving one another until fingers slowly wandered down, _down_ , and with the nod of a head and a sighed out _please_ , they would open belts and sneak under waistbands, and their mouths would go slack in uncoordinated and perfect movements.

In the late, late afternoons when Robbe really had to go home and he had finally and very reluctantly managed to free himself from Sander’s arms, Sander would hook his fingers into a beltloop and turn him back around, still not completely done with his lips. And Robbe would only fight back half-heartedly, laughing into it.

He hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

-

Waking up on the morning of his birthday, body well-rested and lighter than air, Robbe tugged the bedsheets up to his chin in content. His eyes peered over at the white square of paper permanently residing on his bedside table now. Tanned fingers and a lopsided grin automatically appeared in his mind, and he found himself reaching for his phone, already dying to hear the dark-haired boy’s voice.

Sander had beat him to it. A video waited for him in his messages, and Robbe almost laughed, because _of course_ Sander would do that. He clicked play, and his heart burst from the sight that met him. From the sleep-soft look Sander was sporting, Robbe figured he had just woken up. His hair was messy, looking extra dark and lovely against the white wall he was propped up against. His golden shoulders were bare, a white duvet tucked under his armpits. He looked beautiful in the morning, and Robbe wasn’t even surprised. A warm smile and a raspy voice greeted him.

“On this day seventeen years ago, a sweet, sweet little summer baby with honey eyes and brown curly hair blessed the earth with his kind being. The boy is now growing up in a world that isn’t always fair to him, but he's always fair to it. He listens to people’s words so attentively that he looks like everything around him disappears. He’s caring and soft-spoken and lovely, so much so that he can’t get any hurtful words over his lips.”

Sander put the side of his hand to the corner of his mouth as if creating a sense of confidence just between the two of them and whispered, “Except for those who _really_ deserve it.”

Biting his lip, Robbe tried to repress the giddy smile that made its way onto his face.

“When the boy was sixteen years and 326 days old he tried his luck by awkwardly chatting up a cute, older boy sitting beneath a tree in a meadow.”

Robbe rolled his eyes at that.

“Fortunately for him, the meadow boy really likes awkward and beautiful honey-eyed boys with legs and cheekbones that can make anyone weak in the knees. But his looks are just a bonus. A fucking nice bonus, might I add."

The younger boy felt his cheeks heating and fingertips tingling.

Sander went on. "The cute honey-eyed boy is also so warm, funny, and brave. In fact, he’s so brave that the meadow boy wishes he had just half the bravery and strength as him. And what he also wishes he had, is his lips on his. He actually can’t stop thinking about it.”

Robbe burrowed deeper into the mattress, his cheeks flushing, his body warm.

Sander smiled as he lowered the camera angle and softly said, “Happy birthday, Robin.” Then he added, “Please meet me tonight. I miss you.”

And it was ridiculous, because they had just seen each other two days ago, but Robbe really missed him too. Curling into his duvet, Robbe clicked on Sander’s name and put his phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he heard the older boy’s soft voice on the other end, and Robbe almost sighed.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, closing his eyes, imagining that Sander was right there. “And very cute. It’s unfair how good you look in the morning.”

He heard Sander breathe out a laugh that filled his heart with joy.

“I guess you've watched the video, then.”

Robbe smiled. “I have. You can’t stop thinking about my lips, huh?”

“Of course that’s the thing you took away from it,” Sander said. Robbe could hear the smirk in his voice. “But yes. They live in my mind rent free.”

“Oh my god,” Robbe scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes.

“And I have birthday kisses in abundance for you,” Sander added.

Robbe bit down on his lip. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Sander hummed, and Robbe giggled.

“No, but seriously, Robbe,” Sander chuckled, his voice softening. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Absentmindedly running the angel pendant back and forth on the chain of his necklace, Robbe’s heart swelled as he looked across his room at his windowsill that was full of small bundles and bouquets of flowers in various glasses and vases. He liked how the buttercups seemed to resemble little suns, brightening up the room, and how the cornflowers still stood tall in their majestic blue.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” he said in almost a whisper.

Sander’s breaths filled his ear. “Can we please meet tonight?”

Robbe had never felt a yearning so great in his life. He nodded. Then he remembered that the older boy wasn’t actually there with him, and he breathed out a soft, “Yes.”

-

The late summer was beginning to give way for early autumn days, bringing a long-awaited freshness to the atmosphere. A dark cloud ceiling in various shades of grey hung above Robbe’s head. A couple of swallows, the little prophets of rain, flew low above the ground.

There was a spring to Robbe’s steps as he walked with his bike down the trail to the meadow caused by the knowledge that a wonderful boy was waiting for him. He noticed Sander’s bike first, the elegant black frame making him smile. Then, he saw its owner leant up against the trunk of a tree at the spot they’d made theirs, his gaze already on Robbe. Dressed in a beige sweatshirt, the neckline of a white t-shirt peeking out from underneath, black jeans and boots, Sander looked soft and gentle. His brown hair was tousled, and Robbe’s fingers itched to run through it.

Sander wore a wide smile on his face, and a warmth welled in Robbe’s chest. As he made his way towards him, Sander gestured up towards the sky. “What’s with the weather, Ijzermans?”

Robbe couldn’t ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the way the name rolled off Sander’s tongue so smoothly. He smirked. “Guess I haven’t been a good boy.”

“Now that’s just a straight up lie.” Sander’s eyes wandered lazily up his body. “And lucky for you I like this kind of weather.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Sander shrugged. “It’s calming.”

When he came close enough, Robbe curled his fingers into the front of Sander’s sweatshirt, pulling him to him. “You sure it’s not just my _kind being_ , meadow boy?” he teased.

Sander smiled as he reached underneath Robbe’s hoodie and t-shirt, resting a hand on the small of his back. A thrill went through Robbe’s body at the feeling of skin on skin. “That too. And because it means we can be a little closer to each other. You know, because of the cooler air and all.”

“Mhmm,” Robbe hummed, a smirk on his face.

Sander reached up to gently cup the younger boy’s cheek, and Robbe automatically wrapped his fingers around his wrist as Sander leaned in and kissed him. It was slow and sweet, and Robbe had really, really missed it, even though it had only been 48 hours since the last time, but 48 hours too many.

“Hi,” Sander murmured against his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Robbe said, resting his forehead against Sander’s.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something on the ground behind them. As Sander stepped aside, he revealed a white-and-blue striped blanket spread out on the grass. On it was a bowl of strawberries and a box filled with cut-up pieces of chocolate cake, all ready for him.

“I thought it was about time to take up your birthday tradition again.” Sander said.

“Oh, Sander,” Robbe whispered with wide eyes, so amazed that someone would be so nice and do this for him, and that that someone was Sander, the loveliest boy of all. Not trusting his own voice, he threw his arms around Sander’s neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, hopefully conveying how much he appreciated this, appreciated _him_.

Sander held up a finger. “One more thing.”

He reached down for something on the blanket. As he stood back up, he held a delicate chain of intertwined daisies between his artist fingers. Robbe’s heart swelled in his chest, and he couldn’t help but let out a loving chuckle.

“You actually made one.” He looked up at him, his cheeks aching from all the smiling.

“Of course I did.” Sander carefully placed it in his hair and took him in. His eyes were soft, and Robbe didn’t mind being looked at if it was Sander looking at him like this.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sander said, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. As he pulled away, Robbe grabbed the sides of his face and brought him back in, pressing their lips together in a wordless thank you.

They sat side by side, eating strawberries and cake, gazing out across the meadow that had become theirs. It looked different in this weather. Under the high sun it almost looked like a scene straight out of a fairy tale, showing off its best side, taking your breath away, whereas now, it filled your lungs to the brim with fresh air, the splashes of colour subdued, so unpretentious and simple. Sander had his hand curled around Robbe’s thigh in a secure grip, his deft fingers squeezing it every now and then, his thumb stroking back and forth.

“So, the last year before becoming an old adult, huh?” Sander said as he wiped a drop of strawberry juice off his chin with the back of his hand. “How does it feel to still be in the prime of life?”

Robbe breathed out a laugh through his nose, reaching up to catch the remnants of the red liquid from the corner of Sander’s mouth with his thumb. “It feels great, grandpa.”

Sander chuckled, before he teasingly kissed the pad of his finger. “Being with you keeps me young. It’s nice knowing I haven’t completely lost my game.”

Rolling his eyes, Robbe let his gaze travel along Sander’s outstretched legs wrapped in dark denim. “I’m sure you could make anyone’s heart beat a little faster. Probably even my grandma’s,” he said jokingly.

The older boy snorted. “Better not let her meet me, then. Wouldn’t want to give her a heart attack.”

Robbe smacked his arm. Sander threw his head back in laughter and pulled the younger boy into him, ruffling his hair, and Robbe only weakly fought back, enjoying it too much. “Besides,” Sander added. “I only wanna make your heart beat a little faster.”

And Robbe melted under his touch. “That’s going pretty well for you already,” he said softly.

Sander leaned in and kissed him, his warm lips lingering for a second or two. Robbe ended up lying down with his head resting on Sander’s thighs, his heart feeling too big for his chest as Sander ran strawberry-stained fingers through his hair.

“You thirsty?” Sander asked.

Robbe smirked as he gazed up at him, pressing the side of his face into his stomach. “Maybe.”

“For something to drink, Robbe.” Sander said, raising an eyebrow knowingly, the corners of his lips twitching.

Robbe feigned innocence. “Did I imply anything else?”

Sander nudged his shoulder, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”

Grinning, Robbe reached up and cupped the back of his head, pulling him down. “And what if I _was_ implying something?” he said, brushing Sander’s lips with his own, “It’s my birthday. I get what I want, don’t I?”

“Aren’t you a bossy boy?” Sander smirked. He then added in a tone much too gentle for what he was saying, sending thrills up and down Robbe’s spine, “I’d give you what you want any day of the year, baby. It doesn’t have to be your birthday for that.”

Robbe couldn’t resist him any longer and surged upwards, crashing his lips against Sander’s. He moved smoothly, raising his body and straddling the older boy, thighs on either side of his hips, all without breaking the kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Sander said into his parted lips as Robbe tangled his fingers in his hair. He sneaked his hands under the younger boy’s shirt and wrapped his arms around the bare skin of his waist, licking into his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip. Robbe began moving his hips, dragging them against Sander’s ever so lightly but enough to draw out low, appreciative sounds from deep in their throats.

They were kissing and kissing and kissing, entirely unaware of the few droplets that fell from the clouds through the green-leaved branches overhead, into their hair and onto their connected foreheads. Until those drops became more and more, and heaven at last opened.

It poured down as if a whole summer’s worth of rain had been saved for this moment.

Robbe gasped into Sander’s mouth.

“Come,” Sander said as he pulled back, his voice eager and joyful, grabbing Robbe's waist to make him stand up. In one swift move the older boy yanked his sweatshirt over his head and threw it on the ground, leaving him in just his t-shirt and jeans, before he stepped out from their shelter and into the heavy-falling rain. He tilted his head towards the sky, letting the liquid beads soak his skin.

“Sander?” Robbe said confused, pulling his own hood up over his head in an attempt to shield himself. “What are you doing? You’re gonna get freezing cold.”

“I don’t care,” Sander said as he walked backwards while squinting at him through the rain, almost tripping over in the tall grass at one point causing both of them to laugh and Robbe’s heart to swell. “Just come, baby,” he said, nodding his head for Robbe to come out to him, and fuck, Robbe would follow him anywhere.

Taking a deep breath, he tugged his hoodie over his head. He felt his t-shirt ride up his stomach, and he didn’t miss how the tip of Sander’s tongue glided over his lips. His heart jumped in his chest as he felt the cold, cold drops on his arms and face as he made his way out to his lover waiting for him among the drenched flowers.

When Robbe was in reach, Sander wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him off the ground, spinning him around. Laughing into Sander’s ear, Robbe clung to his shoulders, the soaked-through fabric smooth against his chest and palms. Setting him back on the ground, Sander reached up to tuck a few pieces of tousled hair behind Robbe’s ear. Beads of water clung to Sander's eyelashes and the tip of his nose. Mesmerised, Robbe watched drops roll down his cheekbones all the way to the corners of his mouth, and with his fingertips he slowly followed the wet trails they left in their wake. He brushed Sander’s slightly parted lips, feeling his breath hit his fingers in soft puffs, before he cradled his neck, thumbs skimming over his jaw.

Sander surged forward and crashed their lips together with such fervour that it nearly knocked Robbe off his feet. Luckily, Sander had his arms wrapped securely around him, keeping him steady. The kiss was hungry, searing, and Robbe never wanted it to stop, knowing that Sander was the finest thing he would ever taste. Dragging his fingers down the older boy’s spine, he pulled him closer, always closer. They kissed away the cold droplets from each other’s warm lips as the rain ran in steady streams into their hair and down their faces to where their mouths were locked together.

Robbe smiled into it, his lips quickly spreading in a wide grin. He felt Sander pull back slightly as the kiss became more teeth than anything else, and Robbe couldn’t help but tilt his head back with a panting laugh, his breathing heavy as the drops beat down on his skin. Sander was watching him with his bright and brilliant eyes.

“You’re such a fucking romantic, aren’t you?” Robbe said, shaking his head in wonder.

Sander flashed him a beaming smile and brushed his nose against his. “You have no idea.”

A warmth spread in Robbe’s body, filling him to the bone. He threw an arm around Sander’s neck, the other around his waist, and drew him into him, giggling into his shoulder. Sander cupped the back of his head and kissed his cheek, his earlobe, his wet hair. Robbe pulled back slightly. He gazed at Sander’s lush lips that were glistening and slightly puffy and so irresistible, and he felt himself lean in again. This time it was tender, unhurried, luxurious, as they took their time with it.

“You are the sweetest boy I’ve ever known,” Sander said into it, and at that moment, the rain soaking through their clothes didn’t matter, or the fact that the abandoned blanket and food would be a mess to clean up. Nothing mattered except Sander, and three little words that Robbe had never told any other boy before nearly escaped his lips.

Inhaling the fresh air, each other, Robbe thought that if he had the opportunity, he would live in this moment forever. They stood there, hands on cheekbones and around waists, two kindred souls mending bruises and caressing worn edges of hearts and drawing stars around scars through the connection of their lips. Summer rain embraced warm skin, and a chain of daisies came loose in soaked brown curly hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk about the big universe beneath a starry night sky. Sander is sad. Robbe is there for him.

**August 27 th 2020**

They were quiet that night, their words tucked away as they looked at the sky.

Over the phone, Sander’s voice had sounded faraway as he had asked if they could go watch the sunset.

Side by side, they sat on the blue-and-white striped blanket lain out on the rugged ground. Robbe watched Sander more than he did the low-hanging sun. He observed how the late golden hour light washed over him as he sat surrounded by clover and chamomile, casting long shadows from his eyelashes down his cheeks. A thin, thin layer of clouds veiled the sky behind him in an intricate pattern, making him appear almost otherworldly. He looked so gentle and calm in his light grey hoodie and usual black jeans, but the slight furrow of his eyebrows gave Robbe an inkling that his mind wasn’t. The breeze played with his dark hair. His lips glistened. His fingers were clasped around his wrists as his arms rested on top of his bent knees. He glanced back at Robbe, slowly blinking his eyelids that appeared gleaming as if a light layer of glitter had been dabbed onto them. His irises, ringed by dark green, almost iridescent around his black pupils in the sunlight, missed the glint that made Robbe feel warm inside. It was like he was and wasn’t there at the same time.

“Hey,” Robbe said, gently resting his chin on top of Sander’s shoulder. “Everything alright?”

Sander shot him a small smile. His gaze drifted to the angel pendant around his neck catching in the light. Then he nodded. When Robbe kept looking at him, waiting for a verbal response, Sander leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. Brushing noses, he kissed him gently, doing his best to reassure him that he was fine while simultaneously trying to convince himself too.

The older boy pulled away slowly. The delicate skin of their lips stuck together, clinging to one another for as long as possible, before they at last disconnected with a sound so soft that almost had Robbe leaning back in just so he could hear it again.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t okay?” he asked as their gazes met.

It came as a mere breath from Sander’s mouth. “Yes.” He threaded their fingers together and kissed Robbe’s knuckles. The blushing clouds floated leisurely behind him.

Not wanting to push him, Robbe pressed his lips to the corner of Sander’s mouth in accept of his answer while wordlessly letting him know that he was there.

The two boys let time pass by lying side by side, admiring nature and her stunning creation, now and then expressing the odd observation or thought. No cloud covered the sky now. The moon rested like a maternal figure in the velvety midnight blue, illuminating them as her star children competed for the first place in who could shine the brightest, blazing and flickering as they bickered. Robbe felt Sander’s strong need for touch as the older boy absentmindedly played with his fingers or ran his fingertips up the delicate skin of the inside of his forearm.

“I like to think that there are multiple universes parallel to this one,” Robbe said softly into the night air. He’d never told that to anyone before, but he felt that this was the right place to do so.

“Hm?” Sander hummed, looking over at him.

Robbe smiled. “It’s the idea that every time you make a choice the universe splits, so basically everything that could happen is happening out there somewhere.”

Sander kept quiet, so Robbe continued.

“There could be a Sander and a Robbe lying exactly like this beneath the stars, talking about the universe, but they could have picked flowers in a different colour or something.”

Sander eyed the small bundle of flowers between them on the blanket, before looking at him. “Yellow flowers, then?”

Robbe chuckled. “Yeah, for example.”

Sander directed his gaze back up towards the sparkling sky.

“What do you think is out there?” Robbe asked softly.

Silently, Sander reached down and picked a small daisy from the grass by his thigh. He then held it up before him in front of the moon. Closing one eye, as if his mental camera was taking a photo, he studied how the splendour of the bright planet so far away fell around the small white leaves like an effulgence.

“I don’t know,” he murmured then, letting his hand fall to his chest, the daisy escaping from his fingers. “I kinda don’t like thinking about space and all that.”

A breeze blew over them, carrying the aroma of the meadow with it.

“Why not?” Robbe asked.

Sander swallowed. Robbe shifted onto his side, tucking a hand under his cheek, and watched Sander’s profile as he spoke.

“Just… You know, just as far out as the moon, none of what we’re doing here has any importance at all. It terrifies me that this giant planet we’re living on is actually just a tiny speck floating around in complete darkness. We’re so vulnerable. Like, out there, there are rocks blazing through the atmosphere that could destroy Earth in a second, and space would just not fucking care. It wouldn’t mean anything. It makes me feel so irrelevant. Like I don’t matter at all.”

“Sander…” Robbe whispered. He reached over and gently rested his hand on top of Sander’s on his chest.

The older boy’s voice was heavy as he kept looking up at the stars. “Maybe in a parallel universe another Sander got it right.”

Robbe furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging his shoulders defeatedly, Sander shook his head as if what he said didn’t mean anything. But Robbe so clearly saw that it did. It was as if his whole demeanour was screaming for Robbe to understand him, to _see_ him, as if he had words on the tip of his tongue but was too afraid to let them out in the open.

“You matter, Sander,” Robbe whispered.

A small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes spread Sander’s lips as he turned his gaze towards Robbe. Slowly, he laced their fingers together on top of his chest.

A sudden flash caught Robbe’s attention out of the corner of his eye. One of the sparkling specks moved swiftly, burning a golden trail through the sky, gone with such speed that the naked eye could barely catch it.

“Oh my god, Sander, did you see that?” Robbe asked, the thrill clear in his tone.

Sander hummed, his gaze still on Robbe.

Robbe smiled. “You have to make a wish now.”

Sander’s eyes lingered on him a bit longer, studying his features. A silence descended upon them. Robbe didn’t want to disturb it, he just let it be.

Sander broke it when he spoke into the still air, his voice small, almost a mere breath, his face turned away again. “I wish someone would love me.”

Robbe looked at him, his stomach dropping.

The older boy lay with his eyes closed, his face motionless in the moonlight. The tall grass swayed behind him. “I’m bipolar,” he whispered as if the word was toxic and he didn’t want it poisoning the air around them. Then he added in a voice so small, “And it makes me feel so fucking alone.”

Robbe raised himself up on an elbow.

A single tear clung to the corner of Sander’s eye, before it lost its grip and glided across his temple, disappearing into his hair, down behind his ear, breaking Robbe’s heart in two. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. He didn’t meet Robbe’s eyes when he opened his own. Instead, he looked up at the sky, his green irises far away and drowning.

“I can never get it right,” he said. “I just cause problems, because I’m too intense or too distant. When I tell people I’m bipolar, they either run away, or they think I’m some project, that I’m a problem that needs fixing just so they can make themselves look good. They just see my illness, and I fucking hate it. Nobody ever sees or wants _me_.”

Sander took a trembling inhale. Robbe wanted to interrupt him, to soothe him, but he held back as something in him told him that Sander had bottled these thoughts up for far too long and needed to get them out now.

“I’ve never been enough for anyone, and the feeling I get in my chest whenever I realise that…” Sander didn’t finish the sentence. He wore the defeat so loud and clear on his face as he shut his eyes again, causing a stream of tears to fall like small beads of mother-of-pearl.

“Hey, hey, hey, Sander,” Robbe said gently, moving closer to him.

“I just want to be loved,” Sander’s voice broke. “But I can’t seem to make people love me.”

Robbe ran a hand down his cheek, wiping the salty drops away from his skin. “Sander, look at me.”

Sander shook his head, the tears still flowing like silent rivers, soaking the brown strands by his temples.

“Please look at me, Sander.” Robbe reached up and gently brushed his hair away from his forehead.

Slowly, the older boy opened his eyes, and Robbe’s heart ached when they met his. The sadness manifested itself in his pale green irises that looked almost empty, so far from the ones that usually gazed at him with so much light. They were framed by his long eyelashes that stuck together in thick, wet strands, red around the edges.

“You’re not alone,” Robbe said, his voice soft but firm, caressing his cheek, tracing the dark, tearstained skin beneath his eyes. “I’m so sorry that people have been treating you like that. That says so much more about them than it does about you. You’re more than enough. There’s nothing about you that needs to be fixed.”

He held Sander’s gaze as an anchor for the older boy to hold on to, needing him to understand just how much he meant this.

“And you don’t cause any problems. Sander, this is the happiest I’ve been in a _long_ time, and that’s only from having known you for a few weeks. You’re fucking great, and if people can’t see that, then fuck them.”

Sander just looked at him, taking in his features and his words, and it almost killed Robbe to think that this was the first time someone had told him anything like that.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Robbe whispered.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Sander’s cheek, before he lay his head on his chest and draped his arm around his waist. He felt Sander’s arm hug his back, bringing him closer.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said as he drew small circles on Sander’s ribcage. Then he asked softly, “Do you want to tell me more about it?”

Sander seemed to contemplate this, but then he hummed quietly, and Robbe felt him nod.

Robbe tightened his grip when Sander told him how it sometimes felt like his brain was on fire, racing a million miles an hour, feeling that nothing was insurmountable, and other times like it was frozen beneath a thick layer of ice, completely numb; he could see people, and people could see him, but their words would be muffled, not really reaching him. He felt Sander’s anger as the older boy recounted how his ex-girlfriend would make him feel like a helpless child; instead of a supportive shoulder to lean on, she would act as his caregiver just to make it look like _she_ was the bigger person, because she was ‘putting up’ with his mental illness.

“She made me think that I had to tone myself down. That no one would really love me if I was being myself.”

Tilting his head, Robbe made Sander look at him. “You know that you can be yourself with me, right?” he asked.

Sander’s eyes roamed his features, so used to searching people’s faces for traces of lies. But he found none, because Robbe was the most genuine thing in this false world. Leaning down, he pressed their lips together. It was so tender it nearly made Robbe tear up.

“I know,” Sander whispered as he pulled back, the thousands of stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I actually found this place when I was having a manic episode, and I immediately knew this would be my spot.” Sander said, his hand stroking up and down Robbe’s back. “Until I found out a certain someone had also claimed it as his.”

Robbe breathed out a small chuckle and pressed a kiss to Sander’s jaw.

He told Robbe about how it had taken years to find the right combination of medicine for him, and that he had therapy sessions scheduled every week with a good therapist; he tried his hardest to go to all of them, but sometimes he, ironically, just couldn’t handle the mental exhaustion of figuring out and learning how to cope with his mind when it was turning against him. He told him how his thoughts tended to race at night, leaving him sleepless at times.

Robbe rested his hand on his chest above his heart. “If you can’t sleep, and you need someone to talk to, or to maybe just be quiet with, you can call me,” he said. “If you want. It doesn’t matter what time.”

“Thank you,” Sander whispered.

Eventually, Sander’s words became fewer and fewer, until they stopped completely. They lay in silence for a bit. If it wasn’t for his fingertips occasionally caressing Robbe’s back, Robbe would have thought the older boy had fallen asleep. He didn’t know what time it was, but he guessed it was way past midnight. Tilting his head to rest his chin on Sander’s chest, he asked softly, “Do you want to go home and get some sleep?”

Sander’s glossy eyes met his. Then he nodded slowly.

As Robbe raised himself from his chest, a hand wrapped around his wrist. Sander whispered his name, sounding so fragile, and Robbe’s heart clenched.

“Robbe, could you… could you please come home with me?” he whispered, his voice tired. “I just really don’t want to sleep in an empty bed tonight.”

Robbe cradled his cheek, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone. “Yeah, of course,” he whispered.

They ditched the blanket and Sander’s bike, knowing they would be waiting for them when they decided to come back. As they left the grass path leading down to the meadow and came onto firmer ground, Sander seated himself on the rear rack of Robbe’s bike. Robbe felt his arms loop around his waist in a strong hold and the comfortable weight of his head leaning against his back as they cycled past moonlit fields and pastures, until they were gradually met by more and more fluorescent streetlights and sleeping homes. Except for Sander’s occasional points of direction, they were quiet. On the last stretch Robbe lay a hand on top of Sander’s that rested on his stomach.

Sander threaded their fingers as they climbed the stairs to his room. As he turned on the lamp on his nightstand, Robbe let his eyes wander around the space. Surprisingly few things hung on his white bedroom walls. A few drawings were tacked above his desk, a couple of sketchbooks, identical to the one he carried around with him, lay completed on the desk along with cups of pencils and kneaded erasers. A paint-spattered easel stood in a corner by a large window. On it was a half-finished painting, but Robbe couldn’t decipher the motif in the dim lighting. There was a stool in front of it, and he could so easily imagine Sander sitting there, brushes in hand, music on, completely in his own bubble. Rolls of paper and even more canvasses were propped up beside it on the floor, some finished, some still blank, along with a box full of paintbrushes and tubes of paint. His bed was unmade, the white bedsheets, the same as had been wrapped around his torso in his birthday video for Robbe, looked like they had just been thrown aside, ready to welcome Sander back in.

A warm feeling welled in his chest when his eyes landed on Sander’s windowsill that very much resembled his own. Lined up were multiple glass vases in different sizes. In them stood the flowers, some fresh, some dry and wilted, all from their summer days at the meadow.

The beige sweatshirt that was draped over his wooden desk chair made Robbe’s heart flutter.

“You can borrow a shirt. If you want,” Sander said, already making his way to his closet. Robbe gripped his wrist, gently pulling him back.

“That’s okay,” he whispered. He searched Sander’s face. His eyes had regained some of the light Robbe was so used to seeing in them. He leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Come. Let’s get to bed.”

They undressed down to their underwear and found each other in the soft bedsheets. Sharing the same pillow, they lay facing each other. Robbe couldn’t help but search his mind for anything he might have said that made Sander think that he should tone himself down around him.”

He closed his hand around Sander’s that rested between them. “Sander, if I’ve ever made you feel that you couldn’t be yourself with me, then–“

Sander cut him off. “You haven’t.”

“But, Sander–“

“Robbe, you really haven’t. I’ve felt the most myself with you than I have with anyone else.” He tugged his hand out from beneath Robbe’s to run it through his hair. Robbe tilted his face and pressed his lips to the inside of Sander’s forearm.

“You know how you said space made you feel insignificant?” he said, smiling softly at him.

Sander nodded.

Robbe wrapped his fingers around the hem of the duvet and pulled it up over their heads, covering their entire bodies, creating their own little world. The light from the bedside lamp filtered through, filling the tiny space in soft hues of yellow. Cupping Sander’s cheek, Robbe said, “In this space you’re the most significant thing there is.”

He didn’t miss how Sander’s sleepy eyes lit up as his lips tugged upwards in a small, but genuine smile. He moved closer on the pillow and rested his forehead against Robbe’s. “You’re fucking sweet,” he whispered, a quiet chuckle escaping his mouth.

Robbe brushed their noses together. “So are you.”

For some time, they just studied each other. Robbe pulled the duvet down again, the cooler air washing over them, and he snuggled a bit closer to Sander. He traced the scar beside his eye as Sander rested his hand on the side of Robbe’s neck, thumb stroking the line of his jaw. Looking into Sander’s eyes, Robbe added, “I really mean it, Sander. You’re the most significant thing. Not just in here, but everywhere. No one compares to you.”

Sander didn’t say anything. He just nuzzled his face into the crook of Robbe’s neck and breathed out a trembling sigh. Robbe wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace and stroked his soft hair. He felt Sander press his lips against his earlobe, and ever so quietly, as if the words might hurt, he whispered, “I love you,” into his skin.

And Robbe never wanted them to hurt. He never wanted Sander to be scared of what he would be met with when saying those words. Gently cradling the sides of Sander’s face, he made him look up at him and brushed a few wisps of brown hair away from his forehead. The older boy’s eyes were wide, glossy, as if on the cusp of crying. He cupped Sander’s cheek, thumb grazing the birthmark adorning his warm skin. Holding his gaze, Robbe said what had nearly slipped out out his mouth in the rain on his birthday, and what he had now realised that Sander so badly needed to hear.

“I love you, too.” His voice was calm and steady, but inside his heart was well on its way to hammering out of his chest.

He thought he heard Sander’s breath hitch slightly as the older boy’s fingertips moved up to his cheekbone, just barely touching his skin as if he was afraid that Robbe wasn’t real and would disappear if he pressed down any harder.

But he wouldn’t disappear.

Robbe met him halfway as Sander leaned in. The older boy kissed him with the mind of someone who had always been terrified of being left alone but now finally knew he wouldn’t be anymore; that he didn’t have to make his heart sad any longer by pretending to be less than who he was.

“You’re not alone,” Robbe whispered against his lips, needing him to hear it again, and he felt the soft breath of Sander sighing into it. He finished with a few quick kisses to Sander’s lips and cheeks, before pulling back. “You can sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.”

Sander gave him a small smile as he leaned in and kissed him one last time, before shifting onto his other side, inviting Robbe to press himself up against his back. Sander’s bed was soft, but he was even softer. Burying his face in the back of his neck, Robbe breathed in his sweet scent, still so new, yet so familiar. Sander laced their fingers together in a tight grasp and brought their clasped hands to his lips, kissing Robbe’s knuckles. It didn’t take long for Sander to succumb to sleep, the baring of the feelings that he had kept inside for too long tiring out both his mind and body. His breaths grew longer and deeper, blowing over their entwined fingers. Robbe kissed the arched line where Sander’s shoulder met his neck. As Sander pressed his back further into his chest, Robbe felt how intimacy-starved they both were; he now realised how intensely they hungered for skin on skin, craving letting their lips linger on the curve of a lover’s shoulder, or the skin behind their ear, and how much they needed the feeling of a heartbeat against their own.

And lying there, curled around Sander’s body, Robbe found himself pitying those before him who had taken their privilege for granted when Sander so kindly gave them the opportunity to do and feel what he was feeling with him now. Sander was rare, a luxury few could afford, but the sweet, sweet boy was willing to give it all for free. Robbe felt sorry for those who hadn’t loved him the way he deserved, who had been attracted to his looks but not to _him_ , those who hadn’t let him flourish to see what wonders he held. But mostly, his heart ached for Sander, who didn’t ask for much, just to love and be loved in return.

Robbe knew that he was privileged. And he would never take it for granted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wake up together. They're so in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really one of my fics if there isn't some heavy cuddling involved? <3<3<3

**August 28 th 2020**

Robbe sensed it before he opened his eyes, the feeling he had so deeply searched for as long as he could remember.

The calm.

Then, he felt the steady beating of a heart not very far from his own and soft breaths blowing into the hair at his nape, sending a thrill through his body. Ever so slowly he turned around, careful not to wake the sleeping boy by his side. Sander lay wrapped and warm in his bedsheets. His chest rose and fell slowly. The lines between his eyebrows, that had looked so deep the night before, were gone. His hair fell over his forehead in messy waves. He looked young and angelic like this, as clean and innocent as a dewdrop, and Robbe wanted nothing more than to curl up against him. But he refrained from it and let him sleep, feeling like he needed it. Instead, he very gently let his fingertips dance across the curved line of his shoulder, drawing patterns and spelling out words. He couldn’t resist lightly pressing his lips there, thinking how much more of him there was to explore. He hoped Sander would let him.

Robbe let time pass by just watching Sander. His lips tugged upward in a smile as the older boy’s eyelids twitched and green eyes slowly blinked open. They seemed hazy and unfocused until they found Robbe’s brown ones looking back at him. Then he closed them again and rolled onto his back, stretching his limbs, rubbing a hand over his face. Robbe watched him fully rise from dreamland, before he said softly, “Morning, pretty.”

Sander smiled back at him. His voice was spun in sleep, so raspy Robbe’s heart burst in his chest. He had to clear his throat to get the words out properly, making them both chuckle. “Good morning.”

Reaching out for him, Sander whispered a small, “C’mere.” Robbe went willingly and the small gap between them was closed as Sander wrapped him in his arms. Robbe nuzzled into the curve of Sander’s warm neck, placing gentle kisses wherever his mouth could reach, making the older boy hum in content. “I really like waking up with you,” Sander murmured into his temple, his lips brushing against his skin.

Robbe’s mouth stretched in a smile, and he pressed kisses just beneath his earlobe and all the way along his jaw. “I like waking up with you, too,” he said as their gazes met. “Who would have thought you were actually a real person outside of the meadow.”

Sander smirked. “I know I look like a fairy tale prince, but…”

“Okay, don’t get too full of yourself, now,” Robbe said, breathing out a chuckle.

Sander pressed his lips to his cheek and squeezed him tight, mumbling sleepily, “Come closer.”

Robbe laughed quietly. “Sander, I can’t come any closer.” His voice was muffled from literally being pressed into his neck now.

“Mmm, just a little closer.” Sander tilted his head back a bit, his gaze darting back and forth between Robbe’s eyes and lips, making Robbe smirk at what he was wordlessly asking. He tilted his chin, granting Sander better access. The kiss was lazy and unhurried, perfect for the little bubble they were in.

There was really something about being held in the morning, curled around a soft, sleep-warm body, everything so unpretentious. It healed things deep inside you.

“Are you feeling better?” Robbe asked softly as they broke the kiss, their lips still brushing.

Sander smiled as he nodded, and this time Robbe could tell it was genuine. He reached up and brushed the back of his hand down Sander’s jaw. “You can tell me anything, you know. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here.”

The older boy stroked his back, his nails scraping the skin gently. “I love you,” he whispered.

Robbe felt his eyelids blink heavily as he drunkenly studied his features. “I love you, too.”

He noticed a slight sheen of sweat at Sander’s hairline. He kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll open a window,” he said, feeling quite warm himself.

Sander reluctantly let go of him, his hand gliding all the way down his spine, before it fell to the mattress as Robbe got up from the bed.

It was only then, as Robbe made his way to the window, that his eyes landed on the canvas in the corner again, having been too preoccupied with Sander to have noticed anything around him.

He stopped in his tracks.

On the canvas was painted a face, a boy. It was unfinished, some of the soft pencil strokes still visible beneath the warm tones of paint. The boy was looking out to the side as if someone had called his name, making only half of his face visible, the rest living beyond the edges of the canvas. It was like one of those accidental photos that happened by the slip of a finger but ended up being the one you would hang on the wall above the pillow you sleep on. The boy’s complexion glowed. The sunlight hit his warm, brown eye that was framed by long lashes and a full eyebrow. The corner of his rosy lips tugged up in an easy smile. Dark hair curled outwards at his nape, embellished by a chain of daisies. At the bottom of the canvas he even saw a sliver of a golden chain of a necklace draped around the boy’s neck.

Robbe lost his breath. It was beautiful. And it was him. The small hoop earring reflecting the light, the smile lines around his mouth, everything.

He had never considered himself worthy of being drawn, let alone painted. That anyone would spend that much time looking at and studying him, perfecting every little detail. He couldn’t believe Sander saw him like this.

“Sander,” was the only word his lips formed.

He heard the bedsheets rustle, before a pair of arms looped around his waist from behind. “Do you like it?” Sander asked softly.

Robbe put his arms on top of Sander’s and managed to take his eyes off the painting to turn his face towards the older boy. Sander pressed his lips against his forehead and leaned his chin on top of his shoulder. Robbe kissed his temple before gazing at the canvas again. “Sander, I… I don’t even know what to say,” he started, before whispering, “It’s so beautiful.”

The older boy tightened his grip around Robbe’s waist. “You know, I didn’t feel good about anything I painted or drew for months, but then you came with your doe-eyes and oh so pretty lips, and I only ever wanted to paint you. I can’t miss with you. My little muse.”

Robbe breathed out a soft laugh through his nose. Sander kissed the base of his neck. “And trust me, you’re even more beautiful in person.” Robbe couldn’t help but sigh as Sander began placing open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder, all the way up the side of his neck, stopping just beneath his earlobe, his lips leaving a wet trail in their wake. “Especially here in my bedroom, in just your underwear, your little waist,” he splayed his fingers and covered almost Robbe’s entire stomach causing goosebumps to rise on the skin beneath his palms, “and your gorgeous long legs on show. And I can’t decide what I want more; to have them draped in my bedsheets while I paint them,” he took Robbe’s hoop earring between his teeth, nibbling on his earlobe, gliding his hands lower, his Michelangelo fingertips disappearing just under the waistband of Robbe’s boxers, making it feel as if fire was running in his veins, “or have them wrapped around me while I fuck you.”

Every single one of Robbe’s nerve endings exploded. He let his head fall back against Sander’s shoulder as all the blood in his body seemed to course to the same spot in an instant.

_Sander and his smooth words._

The older boy took advantage of his exposed neck, nipping his skin, before soothingly swirling his warm tongue over the sensitive spots. Robbe sighed appreciatively. A smirk curled his lips as he managed to turn around in Sander’s arms. He ran his fingers down his chest, before resting his hands low on his waist. “Who says you can't have both?”

Sander looked like a saint and a sinner merged in one with the scar by his eye and the delicate birthmark on his cupids bow as he unashamedly gazed at Robbe's lips, pupils blown wide, eyelids heavy. Just to be a tease, Robbe let his tongue glide across his lips, leaving them wet and glistening.

“Fuck you,” Sander breathed, half sigh, half groan. Robbe laughed quietly, and Sander, unable to resist, leaned in and kissed his parted lips deeply with those beautiful pink ones of his own; now that Robbe knew what they tasted like, how they felt, and that they were more than eager to drag against his own, he didn’t understand how he had ever lived without them. Sander licked into his mouth, their breaths mingling, hot and sweet, and when one of Robbe’s hands sneaked its way up Sander's bicep, the back of his neck, and into his soft hair, pulling gently, he felt Sander's mouth go slack, and his heart skipped a beat.

Before Sander regained his composure completely, Robbe rested his hand on his chest and softly broke the kiss, faltering a bit. “I haven’t…” he began, peering at Sander’s cheek as he couldn’t make himself meet his hazy, heavy-lidded gaze. “I haven’t done this before,” he said. “But I want to,” he added, completely sure.

He saw the corners of Sander’s lips tug upward in a soft smile. He hooked a finger under Robbe’s chin, making him tilt his head. So much affection was laced in the green of Sander’s eyes as he leaned in and kissed him so tenderly, pulling all the air from Robbe’s lungs. “I’m here,” he said, stroking his cheekbone. “Every step of the way. We can stop whenever.”

Robbe nodded, leaning into his touch, feeling so safe.

Sander smiled. “Just do what makes you feel good, and it’ll feel good for me too.” He looked almost sheepish then. “Like what you did before. With my hair.”

“You mean this?” Robbe smirked, tangling his fingers in Sander’s brown locks once more and pulling a bit. A low groan emitted from deep in Sander’s throat, and as Robbe tugged a bit harder, it looked like his now darkening eyes were about to roll back in his head. Robbe thought he might pass out from the sight of that alone.

The bed called for them, and cool sheets met Robbe’s back as they lay down. He giggled into Sander’s chest when the older boy squashed him against the mattress as he reached over to the bedside table, fingers fumbling in the drawer to get out what they needed. And maybe Robbe was a little nervous, but he realised he didn’t have to be, because Sander was whispering reassurances and taking his time with him, making him feel so good. He marvelled at how receptive he was of Sander’s touches and kisses. He basked in his attention; it made him feel like he was the only one that had ever mattered. They both laughed at a stubborn and disobedient condom, and when Robbe noticed Sander’s fingers trembling slightly, he realised he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous. He ran his fingers down the strong line of Sander’s jaw, turning his face towards him and slotting their lips together. “I love you,” he murmured softly against his mouth, and Sander wrapped his arms around his plaint body, sighing into it.

When Sander entered him slowly, attentively, the world fell away and was replaced by interlaced fingers, soft moans, and sweet praises. It was loving, gentle, and Sander cursed against his collarbones when Robbe wrapped his legs around him. They both frowned in pleasure as Sander pushed in deeper, moving his hips in a steady rhythm. Robbe had never felt anything like what he did now with Sander engulfing him. He was everywhere, and Robbe only wanted him closer.

And maybe he took advantage of his newfound discovery of Sander’s love of getting his hair pulled, causing Sander to almost bite down on his bottom lip currently between his teeth. And maybe they both sheepishly laughed into each other’s skin when things were over too fast, but Robbe wouldn’t change a thing. It was something so tangible, so beyond words, and all was completely as it should be.

“I love you,” Sander whispered into his ear, lying on top of him, his face nuzzled into the curve of his neck, puffy lips brushing his skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And Robbe held him close to his chest, repeating the words, feeling on the verge of happy tears.

They lay in silence for a few moments, basking in each other’s presence, running gentle fingertips over whatever skin they could find. Robbe heard Sander croak something unintelligible into his neck. “What?” he chuckled.

Sander tilted his head away from his hiding spot, his voice exuding complete bliss. “I think I’m dead.”

Robbe puffed out a laugh and smothered Sander in kisses, and Sander accepted them happily. “Please come back from the dead," Robbe said. "I need you here.”

Sander hummed, his flirtatious self never far away. “You need me, huh? For what?”

“Sander…”

“To give you kisses?” The older boy kissed along his jaw, teeth grazing his skin. “To make you feel good?”

When Robbe didn’t respond, his mind too hazy, Sander lifted his gaze and looked up. “You felt good, right?” His big, green eyes searched his, and Robbe almost wanted to laugh in disbelief at the fact that Sander was doubting himself when Robbe had been sighing his name into his mouth not even ten minutes ago. He smiled and poked Sander’s nose playfully. Then he cupped his cheeks and brought him down to his lips.

“I felt really good,” he said. “So good in fact that I’ll allow you to do it again.”

A smirk spread on Sander’s face. “That’s a relief.” He trailed a finger down Robbe’s bicep. “’Cause I don’t think I’d be able to do that just once.”

Sander wrapped his arm around Robbe’s waist and rolled onto his back, dragging Robbe half on top of him. The older boy then eyed the skinny joint lying among books and stained coffee mugs on his bedside table. “I could really use a smoke right now,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know I really shouldn’t because of my meds and all, but…”

“Hey…” Robbe said gently. “It’s up to you.”

Biting his lip in contemplation, Sander then gave him a peck on the corner of his mouth, before reaching over, snatching the joint with his deft fingers. Robbe pulled back a bit when he lit it and watched how the tip glowed red as the older boy wrapped his slightly swollen lips around the end and inhaled. He then held the joint to Robbe’s lips, pulling it away like the tease he was just as the younger boy leaned in. Robbe gripped his wrist to keep his hand still, taking a deep drag, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. Sander was staring at his mouth completely unashamed, and before Robbe could exhale, the older boy gripped the back of his neck, bringing him down to him.

The morning passed slowly as they lay in the rumpled bedsheets, sharing smoke between brushing lips that more often than not ended up closing around each other in languid, effortless kisses.

The older boy’s brown hair fanned out on the white pillow like a dark, rugged halo, and his sparkling eyes that crinkled around the corners roamed Robbe’s face, a glow in his cheeks, golden collarbones sharp and prominent under Robbe’s fingertips as he traced them mindlessly. His angel necklace pooled on Sander’s chest.

Robbe bit his lip, suppressing a smirk.

“What?” Sander asked, a lopsided grin growing on his face.

“Nothing,” Robbe shrugged, caressing his chest, feeling his stomach jerk at the sight of Sander lying in all his post-orgasmic glory. “You just look really fucking hot right now.”

Sander hummed appreciatively. He rested a hand on the back of Robbe’s neck and repeatedly carded his fingers through the curls at his nape. “You’re one to talk.” There was a shimmer in his eyes. “I, uh…” he added, looking almost sheepish suddenly. “You know that day back in October? When I saw you?”

Robbe nodded.

Sander stroked his back. “I drew you.”

Robbe raised his eyebrows in amazement. “You drew me?”

The older boy nodded his head in the direction of his sketchbook lying on the floor beside the bed. “You can take a look if you want.”

Reaching down, Robbe grabbed the sketchbook and placed it on Sander’s chest. He felt that he was about to look into a precious treasure chest of late-sleepless-night intricate drawings and spur-of-the-moment doodles, and his fingers hesitated as he was about to open it. “Can I look at all of it?”

Sander smiled softly, nodding his head.

Robbe flicked through pages of fleeting thoughts and ideas that had been manifested in dark graphite, and frustrated marks hiding scribbles of something that Sander had deemed unworthy of seeing the light of day. “Such an artist,” he teased, and Sander nudged his shoulder. There were hands reaching for something beyond the pages, people reading on trains, lots of David Bowie lyrics scrawled in messy handwriting, eyes that Robbe recognized as Sander’s own.

And there he was. Robbe skimmed his fingertips over the ivory white page where the pencil had scratched the surface, the strokes that made up him, dynamically set down, giving the feeling that the boy on the page could turn his head at any moment to observe the person studying him. It was beyond him how Sander could make someone with tears streaming down their cheeks look so mesmerising. A daisy, its white petals now dry and thin, was stuck next to the drawing. It was like Robbe was being transported back to that autumn day, feeling how heavy his heart had been, how tired his eyes were from crying, how alone he had felt. Beneath the flower he read the sentence, ‘To new beginnings _.’_ And as he looked back up at Sander, who was looking at him like he had hung the moon and the stars in the sky, he knew that it indeed had been a new beginning for both of them, that everything had been worth it, because it had led to this.

Even trying to put into words what the drawing made Robbe feel was a lost cause, so he asked another question instead. “What is it with you and daisies?”

A few strands of hair had fallen across Robbe's forehead, and Sander gently brushed them away. “You remind me of a daisy.”

Robbe breathed out a soft laugh. “How?”

The older boy ran a hand through his brown curls. “Just… You know how daisies appear small and dainty and delicate but actually are so tenacious. They’re naturally very resistant and can grow anywhere and survive in any weather. That’s what makes me think of you. There’s nothing that can keep you under its weight, Robbe. You’re the strongest, most resilient person I’ve known.”

It felt as if Robbe’s heart grew double its size in his chest. He reached up and caressed Sander's cheek, winking. “You can keep me under your weight for as long as you want.”

“Wow,” Sander laughed.

Robbe grinned. “I learn from the best, don’t I?” Carefully, he put the sketchbook aside and moved to kiss the line of Sander’s neck. “Are you also saying I’m small and dainty,” he said as he reached his jaw.

Sander hugged him close to his chest. “ _So_ small and dainty.”

And Robbe didn’t mind being small and dainty if it meant Sander would hold him like this. He wanted to give the older boy so much love that he would forget what it was like without it. Robbe smiled and spoke into his skin. “You remind me a bit of a sunflower.

Sander pulled back a bit to be able to look him in the eyes. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I do?”

Robbe nodded, stroking his cheek. “They’re so warm and inviting. So full of life and colour. They just need a little bit of sunlight to blossom.”

Sander’s eyes darted back and forth between his. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Robbe’s and caught his lips in a kiss so deep it made Robbe’s toes curl and his stomach drown in butterflies.

“Not to forget that they’re tall and gorgeous,” he mumbled against Sander’s lips, and Sander laughed that lovely laugh of his and squeezed his waist tighter.

Robbe just gazed at him when they pulled away, completely taken with him, feeling so content and grateful.

“You know…” Sander said, their noses brushing. “I was already so captivated by you all those months ago. And then I fell in love with you the day you came up to me with your beautiful brown eyes, trying to chat me up.”

“I did _not_ , fuck you,” Robbe huffed, his heart going on all funny in his chest. “You were the one being all sly giving me flowers and asking for my number.”

Sander snickered, and Robbe smacked his chest. Gazing at the flowers on his windowsill with sparkling eyes, Sander smirked mischievously as they landed on the cornflowers, their frilly blue petals still fresh. “Did you know that cornflowers used to be worn by young men in love?” he said. “And that the flowers would remain vigorous if their love was returned?”

Robbe shook his head. “Silly.”

“It’s true!” Sander insisted, the joy clear in his voice. “And look how fucking bright mine are."

With his love for Sander bubbling away in his chest, Robbe said teasingly, “I think there’s just something in the water.”

He laughed when Sander rolled his eyes, all unamused and lovely. Leaning in, Robbe pressed kisses all over his face, the tip of his nose, between his eyebrows, his cheekbones, before focusing his attention on his lips.

Sander gently gripped his chin, running his thumb back and forth. “That day in October, something in me just knew that I belonged to you.”

Robbe kissed him again, because how could he not when Sander was _everything_. “I love you so much, Sander,” he whispered.

He was so glad that something made him take a leap of faith that warm and sunny day in July. He felt his heart beat calmly in his chest now. He was still Robbe, the sensitive and loving boy who would do anything for the ones he loved. He was also still the boy who overthought things and apologised too much. And that was all okay. He knew that now. And with Sander, he found that there was nothing to overthink; everything the older boy did was genuine, his emotions so clearly written on his face.

Robbe gazed at him, rosy-cheeked. “Thank you,” he said.

The older boy trailed a finger down the bridge of his nose, grazing the scattered summer freckles. “For what?”

Robbe shrugged, biting his lip sheepishly. “Just… For making me feel so comfortable in my own skin. For making me feel that I’m enough. For everything, really.”

“Robbe…” Sander whispered. “You’ve always been enough.”

“But you made me realise it, Sander. And thank you for making my brain and heart lighter by listening to me. I didn’t know I needed it as much as I did.” Robbe smiled at him. “You’ve been so good for my mental health.”

Sander looked back at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “That’s the fucking nicest thing anyone has ever told me.”

Robbe burrowed closer into his arms, the closest they could be never close enough. He had now found the missing pieces of his heart; they were right there in the breathing, live body next to him, in Sander’s. He also felt that parts of Sander’s heart had filled out the open gaps in his own.

Robbe wrote love letters and sonnets dedicated to the meadow through the string of kisses he pressed to Sander’s lips. In them, he expressed the immense bliss the place held for him. His lips dragging over collarbones and pulse points told stories of vivid wildflowers and starry nights. And as they pressed against the golden skin above a kind heart, they told of the finest of the meadow, the finest of all: the boy who picked the flowers and watched the blinking sky with him, who made the world disappear around him whenever his green eyes landed on his, whose lips made his knees give out while heaven sighed in bliss. He knew that if a boy like Sander walked the earth, then things weren’t completely damned after all.

He also knew now that angels aren’t always divine figures dressed in billowy white with feather wings adorning their backs. Sometimes, they’re boys with messy brown hair and dark circles under their eyes, whispering sweet nothings among white bedsheets and unfinished paintings. Boys, who make you want to do everything and be everything.

So,

Here is to boys with graphite stains on their hands, hearts too big for their bodies, and melancholy eyes lighting up the night.

Here is to laughter that will make your vision blur with tears of joy, being vulnerable beneath the stars, and staying soft in a world that isn’t.

Here is to flowers on windowsills in boys’ bedrooms, cold summer rain soaking your clothes, and gazes that make your heart beat faster.

And most importantly, here is to a honey-eyed boy and a meadow boy finding each other. Boys who will live long.

Maybe forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much reading. Hope you enjoyed! <3<3


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